


The Kings and the Love Letters

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [30]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Drama, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:14:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin comes across some old letters belonging to Thranduil – and wishes he hadn’t.   A ‘bonejarringly angry and jealous Thorin’ was requested and here he is – I’ve done my best!  The story before this one, The Kings and Haldir, the Marchwarden, sets up the story-line and introduces you to Haldir.  You might like to read it if you haven’t, but it’s not necessary for your understanding and enjoyment of this episode.  Have fun!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Love Letters

 

 

.o00o.

 

 

The Kings and the Love Letters

 

Pt I

 

_“Letters bring us the written characters of the absent friend.”_

 

Thorin was fidgeting around Thranduil’s apartment in Mirkwood.  After Haldir, the marchwarden of Lorien and envoy from Galadriel had taken his leave of Erebor some days before, they had made for the elven stronghold.  Thorin let out a bored sigh.  There was always so little to do here because Thranduil spent most of his time in council meetings.  And he had warned the dwarf that today’s meeting was likely to go on into the evening.

 

The dwarven king went out on the balcony and admired the view for a bit.  Then he returned to the reception room and sat down.  Then he got up and helped himself to a glass of wine and sat down in another chair.  Then he wandered off into the bedroom and threw himself upon the bed for five minutes.  And then he got up and went to the bathing pool and wondered if he should strip off and have a bit of a splash.  And then he decided against it.  And, finally, he made his way to the study, hoping to find an interesting book on one of Thranduil’s shelves.

 

He seldom went into the study because it was such an untidy place.  The documentation of more than a thousand years was shoved willy-nilly into every cubbyhole and it was difficult to find anything.  Thorin scanned the book titles on the lower shelves and then moved to the upper ones.  These were inaccessible because of his height and he looked around for something to stand upon. 

 

A few feet from the shelves he spotted an old chest which looked as though it might be light enough to be pushable.  The lid wasn’t locked and so he lifted it to see what the chest contained.  The inside was stuffed full with old letters and Thorin, pulling one out at random, noted that it was dated 500 years previously.  Fascinated, he sat down on the floor and had a poke around.  He couldn’t find anything official: instead, it appeared to be Thranduil’s private correspondence.  Usefully, each document that he pulled out consisted of a rough draft of Thranduil’s original letter together with the initiating letter of the correspondent or the reply.  Sometimes, a whole bunch of them were folded up together.

 

But, it was all such a mess!  And then the dwarf had an idea.  He could do something useful and also pass the time in an interesting way: he could sort everything out for Thranduil and put the letters into neat and tidy piles.  It looked like a mammoth task, especially when he opened another chest and found it stuffed with old letters in a similar way; but he had two weeks here – plenty of time to make a good start, at least.

 

The king cleared a large area in the centre of the study by pushing things back to the edge of the room: he would need the space for all the different piles of letters that he envisaged.  And then he began his sorting.

 

Within half an hour, he was totally absorbed.  This was all amazingly exciting because he was getting so many insights into Thranduil’s life over hundreds of years.  It made him feel closer to his lover than he had ever been.

 

And who had the elven king been writing to over such a long period of time?  Well, there were letters to Elrond and Galadriel and Gandalf and Saruman and he could trace much of the history of Middle-earth as he read this correspondence between his partner and the most powerful beings in existence.  It amused him to read the snappy exchanges between the elf and Gandalf and the rather pompous remarks made by Saruman to which Thranduil answered with icy hauteur and the wise and insightful comments of Elrond which his lover seemed to appreciate and the warmth of the Lady Galadriel which the elven king responded well to.  Thorin wondered if he would ever meet her.

 

And then he came to a bunch of letters that rather upset him.  As a child, Legolas had been taken away on extended holidays by his mother when she visited her Noldor kin.  She had grown bored both with Thranduil and with Mirkwood and she had looked for any excuse to leave him and his kingdom for long periods.  When she was away, Thranduil would write to his son because he feared that he would lose contact with him.  The letters were so sad, Thorin thought.  There was the father, trying so hard to express his love for his son, but not quite managing it.  And there was the son, doubtless being forced by his mother to do his duty and respond, but showing his boredom and his lack of interest in his father all too clearly.

 

The letters between the king and his wife were even more upsetting – her coldness and his pleading tones were unbearable – and Thorin only read one of them and then, because he felt as though he were intruding on something intimate that he had no right to know about, he quickly passed over any others that he came across and just put them down in their appropriate pile.

 

Thorin was so bound up in his task that he missed lunch.  When, by the middle of the afternoon, his stomach began to complain, the dwarf asked a servant to fetch him a bit of food and then, sandwich in one hand, he continued with his sorting.  He suddenly came across a bundle all folded up together: this was helpful because such bundles usually meant that they were all from the same person.  He unfolded one so that he could see who was the correspondent – and then nearly choked on his sandwich.  The letter began: _My Darling Thranduil….._ and was signed with the name: _Haldir_!

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

_“_ _A plain old paper letter takes on amazing intimacy.”_

 

Thorin tossed the sandwich over his shoulder and grasped the bunch of letters with both hands.  He flipped through the whole clutch of them and, yes, they were all to and from the marchwarden, Haldir.  He sorted them by date and then began to read their exchange from the beginning.  Their relationship appeared to have started 60 years earlier, soon after he had first met Thranduil and after the destruction of Erebor.  Trying to piece things together, he gathered that the elven king had been invited to Lorien by Galadriel because she was concerned about Smaug and wanted to discuss the dragon’s potential dominance of the North.  And then Thranduil and Haldir had met each other and the correspondence had started.

 

The first one began:

 

_My darling Thranduil_

_How will I ever forget that first night we spent together, just the two of us, sharing my flet?  I never guessed, as I touched your thigh when we dined at Galadriel’s court, that you would respond by taking my hand and placing it tightly against your crotch.  That’s when I determined to have you, up in the trees and beneath the stars._

_I can still smell you, even now.  I can still taste you.  I can still feel your skin beneath my fingers and my prick deep, deep inside you………_

Thorin flung the letter to one side and pressed on with the response:

 

_My dearest Haldir_

_It seemed like a long ride home to Mirkwood without you by my side.  All my thoughts are of you – touching me, inside me, bringing me to a gasping conclusion.  How have I lived so long without you?  Come quickly to me so that I can quickly come!!  You know where you belong…. It is in my life, in my bed and inside me!  I yearn to submit to you once more….._

Thorin threw this letter to one side and read the next…..and the next.  They were all the same and he felt physically sick.  When he had read them all, he got up from the floor and slowly poured himself a cup of wine and sat staring blindly before him.  He drank the wine – and then he polished off the rest of the bottle.  And the more he thought about the letters and about Haldir and about Thranduil and then about Haldir and Thranduil together, the more white-hot grew his anger.

 

He tried to be rational.  This – affair – had happened before his own relationship with Thranduil had properly started.  He calculated that their first meeting had been soon after his rejection of the elven king during that visit to Erebor.  So, what possible objections could he have?  Yes, it was very painful to read the intimate details of an affair between the one he loved and another but it had been his free choice to pick up those letters.  And, now, perhaps, he was being punished for prying into things that were none of his business.

 

But he had pried.  And now he knew.  And he was boiling over with fury.  Why?

 

There were so many reasons that it was difficult to know where to start.

 

He was very hurt that Thranduil was the submissive in the relationship with Haldir because he himself had had an endless struggle with the elven king, trying to persuade him to let him take the dominant role now and again.  He knew, he just _knew_ that this was because his lover thought that dwarves were somehow inferior to elves and now this was confirmed.  And it upset him very much.  How could Thranduil say that he loved him and yet not treat him as an equal?  Why was it all right for another elf to fuck the elven king but not Thorin?

 

Next, the relationship seemed so intense, both emotionally and sexually.  And yet, Thranduil had always assured him that what he felt for Thorin he had felt for no other.  He had _lied_!  And he wondered what else he had lied to him about.

 

Even worse, they had told each other about all their past affairs – supposedly - and Thorin had thought that everything was open and on the table.  BUT, HE HAD NOT KNOWN ABOUT HALDIR, the most passionate of all Thranduil’s lovers.  _Why not,_ Thorin wanted to know?  Something important was being concealed here and he wanted to know what it was and why.

 

And now he was being led to another distressing conclusion: the affair wasn’t over!  On meeting each other in Erebor, they had acknowledged each other merely as acquaintances – not even as good friends – and certainly not as lovers.  What were they trying to conceal? 

 

And then a final thought had come to him: he had stupidly sent them off riding together FOR THE WHOLE DAY!  Oh, how they must have laughed at him!  And his mind was in turmoil as he imagined all the things they had doubtless done together – all those obscene things mentioned in the letters -  whilst Thorin’s back was turned. 

 

He didn’t just feel angry at the deception: he felt an ugly black fury, the like of which he had never known before, rising in him like a surging tide.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

_“Shame derives its power from being unspeakable.”_

 

“Why don’t you two go riding together,” Thorin had said a week earlier to Thranduil and Haldir, “whilst I reply to the Lady Galadriel’s letters?”

 

The elven king had felt a sinking in his heart, but there was no way out, really, and so he had nodded his agreement.  The pair had galloped across the empty plain together and then up the escarpment on the other side without stopping and, when they reached the top, they had been obliged to pull their sweating horses to a halt.  There they dismounted and walked them for a while.

 

There was silence between them until Haldir said softly: “It’s been a long time.”

 

“Yes,” said Thranduil.   And, to himself: _But not long enough_.

 

He stroked the neck of his horse and thought back 60 years to that time when Thorin had rejected him.  He had been so angry and had stormed out of Erebor.  Then events had overtaken them both when the dragon had come.  He had felt an intense pleasure when he had turned his back on Thorin and the refugees: he had gone back to Mirkwood and had fucked Ethril, a faithful courtier, as a way of taking a twisted form of revenge upon the dwarven prince.  There, that would show him that he didn’t care.  But, the next morning he had felt completely empty inside and he had wondered if the prince would survive.  There was so much pain about his heart that he thought that nothing would ever numb it.  He had gone to meet with Galadriel soon after and he was more than glad of a distraction.

 

And there, in Lorien, Haldir had come into his life.  The marchwarden had wanted him and the king had used him like a drug to blot out all those powerful and unwanted feelings he had felt for Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror.  He would _not_ let the dwarf win.

 

But, in the end, word filtered through to him of the desperate plight of the dwarven refugees, wandering and starving in the wilderness, and the guilt he felt about their suffering twisted in his gut like a knife.  And the more he blamed himself and the more he wondered if the prince were still alive, the more he humiliated himself with Haldir. 

 

He wanted to be punished.  And so, he knelt before him and sucked his cock; he bent over fallen tree-trunks in the forest and let himself be fucked; he lay night after night with him, up on his flet, and let Haldir do whatever he wished with him.  He abased himself and thought that, perhaps, by submitting to all sorts of degradations, he could somehow pay the price for the way he had treated Thorin and, in the end, he would find release from his misery.

 

Haldir enjoyed himself, of course.  He had no idea why the arrogant elven king would be so keen to submit to his will in all things, but who was he to question the desires of a king?  And so, he met up regularly with the great elf lord and set about his continued abasement with gusto.

 

But, after several years of this, Thranduil finally sailed into calmer waters.  The guilt and pain he felt were still there, but he came to realise that he had to accept such things and that destroying himself was not the answer.  He sent Haldir’s letters back unopened and unanswered and shut himself and his court away from the world.  Only then did he feel safe.  Finally, he came to terms with his emotions: he had let an icy aloofness settle upon him and even distanced himself from Legolas.  And it wasn’t until a wandering band of dwarves had been captured in his kingdom and the object of his desire was chained up in his dungeons at last that this whole construct that he had so carefully created about his heart and his emotions came crashing down in pieces at his feet.

 

He was jerked back to the present by Haldir’s sneering question: “So, how about a fuck for old times’ sake?”

 

Thranduil looked at him calmly.  “Our relationship finished a long time ago,” he said.  “You had your fun. You enjoyed humiliating me.  And, in the end, I decided that I had had enough.”

 

The marchwarden’s lips twisted in a cynical smile.  “Ah, but I see I was inadequate to the task.  The degradations that I heaped upon you in our little games were obviously not enough and you chose rather to seek out the ultimate abasement and marry a _dwarf_.”  And he nearly spat out the word.  “I would love to know what an elf and a dwarf do in bed together.  Perhaps you will let me watch one day.”

 

Thranduil’s fists bunched angrily.  But, he had rejected Haldir and he understood all too well the pain of rejection.  “Go back to Lorien,” he said.  “Your task is finished here.”  And he mounted his horse and rode away into the forest alone.  Haldir stared angrily after him.  This whole visit had been a disaster one way and another, what with this further rejection by Thranduil and his strange attraction to the dwarf.  Yes, he would be glad to get back to the Lady Galadriel.

 

And as Thranduil rode among the trees, he wondered if he should tell Thorin all about this relationship.  He had kept it from him because he had been so ashamed.  But, there should be honesty between them and all the time that he kept this folly with Haldir from the one he loved, the less honest their marriage was.  Yes, he would tell him.  Soon.  But first he had to build up enough courage and look for the right moment.

 

Haldir left the following day without overturning any applecart, thank goodness.  Thranduil had wondered if he would say something to Thorin out of spite but, if that had crossed his mind, he had obviously thought better of it.  And Thranduil sighed with relief that now he could choose his own time and his own way in which to reveal the liaison he had had with the marchwarden to the most important person in his life.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

_“Never do anything when you are in a temper, for you will do everything wrong.”_ __  
  


Thorin sat in Thranduil’s apartment and tried hard to think coolly and rationally.  During their life together, it was Thranduil who was usually racked with bouts of jealousy and it was Thorin who was left to sort the arguments out.  He remembered numerous occasions when he had tried to remain calm in the face of provocation, even when Thranduil had occasionally become violent.  And it usually finished up with the elven king on his knees begging for forgiveness because he had misunderstood a situation and then had just lost it.

 

And now the situation was reversed – except that Thorin was perfectly confident that he hadn’t misunderstood what was going on here.  And, when Thranduil returned from his council meeting, the dwarf wasn’t sure what his reaction would be because he really didn’t feel in control of his emotions and temper.

 

He got up and paced around the room, and the longer the elf took to return, the more irrational Thorin’s thoughts became.

 

When Thranduil came through the door at last, it wasn’t with the normal loving smile on his face but with a troubled brow because he was wondering: _Is this the right moment?  Should I tell him all about Haldir now?_  It had become a great burden to him and weighed heavily on his thoughts.  How he had got through that dreary meeting, he didn’t know.

 

Then Thorin gave him an opening.  He was standing in the middle of the room with his fists clenched so hard that the knuckles were white.  “I want to talk about Haldir,” he said.

 

Actually, he didn’t want to talk about Haldir: he just wanted to throw accusations at the elven king – and then hit him – very hard.  But, Thranduil’s head snapped up in surprise and he flushed.  “Haldir?!” he exclaimed.

 

_Ah, caught you out there, I see_ , thought Thorin, as he noticed the guilty reddening rising up his throat.  And then with a horrible calm, he held out the correspondence that had passed between the two.  “I have had a very entertaining afternoon,” he said in an unnatural voice, “reading these - love letters – which you and Haldir sent to each other.”

 

Thranduil’s mind raced and his stomach clenched as he tried hard to remember the contents of these letters from 60 years ago.  He swayed a little on the spot as he recalled some of the obscene and vile conversations that the two had had together concerning the details of their love life – if that was the correct word.  And suddenly he realised that, in spite of the dwarf’s calm, their relationship teetered on the edge of a precipice and could be lost forever.

 

What should he do for the best?  Should he say, “I can explain?”  Yes, that’s what he would like to do – but would Thorin stay put long enough to listen?  Should he cast himself at his feet and beg for forgiveness?  But, forgiveness for what?  This was something that had happened years before Thorin had properly come into his life, so what had he done wrong, for goodness’ sake?  Should he go on the attack?  It would be unexpected and perhaps would give him time to force his lover into a situation where they could start a proper conversation.

 

Thranduil chose to go on the attack……

 

“What are you doing with my private correspondence?” he asked coldly.  “How dare you poke around amongst my possessions?”

 

This only set Thorin back for a fleeting second, and then he lost control, throwing the bundle of letters forcefully in the elf’s face.  “I’m not surprised that you would want to keep such filth private,” he snarled, “or to hide this ongoing affair from me.  An elf lord can obviously give you what a dwarven king cannot.”  And Thorin bunched and raised his fists and, as a red curtain descended before his eyes, he had visions of himself beating that aloof, beautiful face to a pulp.  _And who would want you then?  Only me, a lowly dwarf,_ he thought incoherently _.  Perhaps then you’d let me fuck you every night of the year._

_Ongoing affair,_ thought Thranduil in a state of confusion?  _What is he talking about?_

But before he could say another word, Thorin, in a paroxysm of fury, had swept past him, flinging him violently to one side so that he hit his head against the wall and slid with a groan to the floor.  For just one, brief moment, Thorin wanted to rush to his prone body and pick him up in his arms; but, grabbing his cloak instead, he made his way downstairs to the stables in a towering and filthy rage.

 

He knew he had to get out of Mirkwood before he did Thranduil a terrible injury and, finding no-one in the stables, he hastily saddled his own horse and led him out to the courtyard, grabbing a quirt from the wall on his way.  He seldom employed a riding whip but he knew he would have to use the lash if he wanted to outrun the elven king.  In the courtyard, he pulled on his leather gloves and mounted from the block.  But, just as he thought that he had made good his escape, Thranduil came staggering down the palace stairs with a bruise on his temple.

 

“Stop, Thorin!” he gasped.  “We must talk about this!”  And he seized the horse by the bridle.  The elf had a gut feeling that, once the dwarf was gone, that was it: the end of all that had passed between them.

 

“Release me!” yelled Thorin, but Thranduil held on even more tightly to the bridle.

 

“It was guilt, Thorin, guilt,” he cried out incoherently.  But Thorin ignored him and brought down the whip across the king’s face.  A horrible red weal appeared from forehead to chin but, although he faltered, Thranduil did not release the bridle.  In desperation, Thorin lashed him again and again across his hunched shoulders and, finally, his lover let him go.  And with a shout of relief, Thorin galloped away, out of the gates, and back towards Erebor.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt V

_“If you have behaved badly, repent, make what amends you can and address yourself to the task of behaving better next time.”_

 

Thorin reached Erebor without being intercepted by the elven king, praise be to Mahal!   He threw the reins of his exhausted horse to the stable boy and then made for his apartment.  He was nearly there when he passed Dwalin in the corridor without a word.  His startled henchman took one look at him and then hurried down the corridor in his wake.  The king was just about to shut the door in his face when Dwalin shouldered his way in.  “Oh, no, you don’t,” he growled.  And he locked the door behind him.  “Shouldn’t you be in Mirkwood?” he asked.

 

Then he glanced at the whip in Thorin’s hand and noted the blood there.  “Your horse’s?” he asked in surprise.

 

“No, Thranduil’s,” was the curt response.

 

Dwalin’s jaw dropped open in horror.  “Sit down,” he ordered his king sternly.  And then he fetched a bottle of wine and two glasses.

 

“Now, tell me: what have you done?” he asked.

 

“It’s not what _I’ve_ done,” snarled Thorin, “but what Thranduil’s done.  He’s been fucking Haldir for years and I knew nothing about it.”

 

“No!” exclaimed Dwalin in disbelief.  “Not that elegant envoy from Galadriel who was here the other day?  I don’t believe it!”

 

“You can believe it or not,” sighed the king wearily, “but I accidentally found the love letters that have passed between them, starting 60 years ago.”  He paused a moment.  “Well, I call them love letters but they are more a record of a series of disgusting things that Thranduil let Haldir do to him.  I just do not recognise the one I thought I loved in these accounts.”

 

Dwalin raised an eyebrow curiously.

 

“No!” snapped the dwarven king.  “I refuse to soil my lips by telling you what has been going on between them.”

 

_Must have been bad_ , thought Dwalin.  “And the whip?” he asked.

 

“He tried to stop me leaving and I – hit him,” said Thorin stiffly.

 

“And did you hurt him?” asked the big dwarf.

 

“What do you think?” was the contemptuous reply.  “I hurt him enough that he didn’t follow me.”

 

“And so his injuries must be quite serious?” commented Thorin’s closest friend.

 

The king thumped the table with his fist: “Of course they’re quite serious,” he yelled.  “And he deserved them.  They fucked each other only last week – and I was fool enough to thrust them into each other’s arms!”

 

“When was this?” asked Dwalin, his eyes narrowing. 

 

“On Haldir’s second day here.  I had to answer Galadriel’s letters and I sent them off riding together, fool that I am.  You were on duty and you must have seen them set out from your position on the battlements.”

 

“Yes,” was the terse reply.  “I saw them ride out, right to the top of the escarpment.  They paused there only a few moments.  Then Thranduil rode off alone into the forest and Haldir rode back to Erebor.  He had a face like a thundercloud.  I wondered what it was that Thranduil had said to him.  But he was gone the following morning and I thought no more of it.”

 

The king and his right hand man stared at each other for a long moment.  “Did you discuss Haldir with him?” Dwalin finally asked.

 

“No,” said Thorin in a small voice.  “I thought I had worked it all out.”

 

“I’ll get you a potion that will make you sleep….”

 

“And tomorrow, I must return to Mirkwood,” sighed the king. 

 

.o00o.

 

It was a slow, thoughtful ride the next morning.  There were still many questions that Thorin needed answered but he felt that it was important to hear what Thranduil had to say.  Perhaps he would not be satisfied and perhaps he would return on his own to Erebor once more, but he felt a lot calmer and needed to give the elven king a chance.

 

As he approached Thranduil’s apartment, the doctor emerged from his rooms and gave Thorin a speaking look in passing.  And, when he entered, he found the elf lying face down on the bed, stripped to the waist, his shoulders and back covered in cuts and marks from his whip.  Thorin flinched.  “It’s me,” he said quietly.

 

The king started and tried to sit up but, groaning in pain, flopped back on the bed.  “Don’t come too close or I shall kill you,” the elf muttered.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” replied Thorin with a faint half smile.  The dwarf took off his cloak and his boots and then lay down gently next to Thranduil on the bed.  “I’ve got a lot of questions,” he grunted.  Thranduil turned his head towards him on the pillow and gazed longingly at his lover.

 

“They are questions that I want to answer,” was the quiet response.  “I intended to tell you about Haldir but I was too ashamed.”

 

“First question,” murmured Thorin.  “Why did you shout that it was to do with guilt as I tried to ride away?”

 

“I don’t think,” said the elven king slowly, “that you have any idea how angry I was when you rejected me at our first meeting.  No-one had ever done that before, certainly not someone that I had wanted as much as you.  So, when the dragon came and I turned my back on you and all your kin, I experienced a certain amount of satisfaction.  But then I realised that you might have died and that I was responsible.  The guilt was immense – and Haldir was on hand to punish me for my appalling behaviour.”

 

Thorin reached out and ran a finger down the elf’s pale cheek.  “Go on,” he whispered.

 

“You may have noticed that those letters suggested that our sex life was all about punishment and degradation, about me submitting to Haldir.”

 

“They did more than suggest,” smiled Thorin wanly.

 

“I let him do those things to me because I thought that, in the end, I would feel – purged – of my guilt and that then I would be free of you.  I tried it for two years but it didn’t work.  I learned to cope in another way.  Then years later, you and I found each other, but my time with Haldir still weighed on me.  Can you guess why I’ve always been unhappy about you taking the dominant position in bed?”

 

“Because I’m only a lowly dwarf?” grinned Thorin.

 

“Perhaps there was an element of that – a very small element,” was the wry answer, “but I’m sure you must realise now that every time you insisted on fucking me, I was reminded of Haldir.”

 

Thorin sighed.  “Does that mean that I must always be on the bottom?”

 

“I don’t think so,” said Thranduil honestly, “not now you know all that there is to know – it must change things……  But does your comment mean that you are considering taking me back into your bed?”

 

“No,” said Thorin.  And the elven king’s face fell.  “Not until your wounds are healed – and you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

 

Thranduil looked yearningly at the dwarf.  “I expect I can stand a bit of pain.”

 

Thorin laughed and tenderly kissed the weal on his face.  “What if you just lie there and let me fuck you very, very gently,” he said.

 

It seemed worth trying and Thorin removed the rest of Thranduil’s  clothes and stripped off his own.  Then he got astride his hips and fucked him very gently, just as he had promised.  It was pleasurable for both of them and, afterwards, they forgave each other.

 

The doctor returned some hours later to show Thorin – with a certain amount of thin-lipped disapproval – how to care for the elven king.  And then, Dwalin turned up to make sure that they had sorted out all their problems.  And then various elven ladies arrived with plates of delicacies for the invalid.  And, close on their heels, a group of court musicians entered, helpfully sent to play some soothing music in the sick room.  And then everyone stopped to have a sociable chat with each other and to keep poor Thranduil company.  “We’ll never manage another fuck, not surrounded, as we are, by all these caring people,” whispered Thorin to his love.

 

“Well,” murmured Thranduil in response, “we could just tell them all to “GO AWAY!”

 

“What a good idea!” grinned Thorin, turning to the gossiping group and bracing his shoulders for a very loud and very authoritative announcement.

 

.o00o.

 

**Phew!  Those two have managed to resolve their issues yet again – perhaps one day they won’t!**

**Next week, I hope to make you laugh because I’ve been writing too many serious stories.  It’s called, The Kings and the Pregnancy.  Hmm, will this one contain Mpreg?  Maybe, maybe not, LOL!  You’ll just have to read it and find out.**

 

 

 

 


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